In a recent column in the Telegraph (8 March) headed ‘How I long for the bombs to start falling,’ Mark Steyn wrote, ‘This interminable non-rush to non-war is like a long, languorous, humid summer, where everyone’s sweaty and cranky and longing for the clouds to break and the cool refreshing rain to fall. Bring it on, please.’
I don’t know whether the Telegraph or The Spectator will be sending Steyn to Iraq, but this is what he may find. The description, in Jarhead, is by Anthony Swofford, a US Marine Corps sniper in the last Gulf war. Marching across the desert he comes on what is left of an Iraqi convoy which had been bombed by the Americans: ‘Men are gathered dead around what must have been their morning or evening fire. The men around the fire are bent forward at the waist, sitting dead on large steel ammunition boxes.’ He sits down on one of the boxes. ‘I join the circle of dead. The men’s boots are cooked to their feet. The man to my right had no head. I want to ask the dead men their names and identification numbers and tell them this will soon end.’
Mark Steyn mocks those who think that President Bush and Secretary Rumsfeld are ‘slavering to drop a bunch of daisy- cutters on Iraqi moppets’. Swofford describes the effect of a 12,600-pound daisy-cutter bomb, used in Vietnam and Afghanistan, on an Iraqi bunker. ‘If you were within two acres of the explosion and above ground or even in a barricaded bunker, you were sure to die. The mouths of the dead men remain open in agony, a death scream halted. Can you hear?’
Horrible though it was, did Lance- Corporal Swofford think it was worth it? After the short war he and his comrades were driven through Kuwait City, cheered by poor women waving flags (which he supposes they were given by the Kuwaiti and American governments).
Comments
Join the debate for just £1 a month
Be part of the conversation with other Spectator readers by getting your first three months for £3.
UNLOCK ACCESS Just £1 a monthAlready a subscriber? Log in